Gradual Injection
by HUTCCCH
Summary: Stan's got alot going for him, except for the whole "in love with your best friend" thing. So he turns to Wendy for a cure. Kyle, feeling abandoned, turns to something much more sinister- Eric Cartman. Stan/Kyle, Onesided Cartman/Kyle. Warning-drug use.


**Warning**: This story contains drug use, yaoi, and mild non-con. I don't approve of drug use in any way, shape or form, nor do I claim to be an expert on it. Also, if you don't like yaoi, then why are you here? And if you don't like angst, just. Just go. This isn't for you.

**Disclaimer**: Not mine, dollface.

* * *

The sky is blue, the grass is green, and today, Stanely Marsh is the happiest man on Earth. Nothing particularly good is happening on this particular day- he's not graduating from high school, it's not his birthday, he's not getting a car. He's not doing anything interesting or overly exciting at all.

In fact, Stanely Marsh is napping. He's lying on a hill, with his arms on his stomach, his face turned towards the sun, and his legs sprawled out, overlapping on another pair next to him. His best friend, Kyle Broflovski, is lying next to him. His red hair is making a contrast with the green grass, and his fragile chest is moving up and down in a soothing, rhythmic pattern.

But Stanely Marsh isn't actually asleep. His blue eyes are wide open, but they aren't admiring the clouds, or the blue skies, or the little ladybug making it's way across his hand. They're fixed on Kyle Broflovski's peaceful, pale face as it twitches slightly in the midst of a dream. There's a smile on Stan's face in response, and he's decided this is the happiest day of his life.

Because, see, Stanely Marsh has a crush on his good-old-friend Kyle. And not just the "hehe, you're cute, let's hold hands," kind of way, but in the "I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so come kiss me now," kind of way. But Kyle is straight, and Stan is straight (right?) and that's how it should be.

Kyle has a lot going for him. He's star of the basketball team and is by far the smartest person in their class. He's the town hero- having saved it countless time from the maniacal planning of their fat friend Eric Cartman, and he's gorgeous. He's got the world on a string, and Stan knows he's going to play with it to its full potential.

And Stan- Stan is the football star and though he's grades aren't tip-top, he's got a list of scholarships just waiting for him to pick a few. He's got a good reputation as a good kid and a good lay, and he's not too bad looking himself- with his toned body, shock of black hair and electric blue eyes.

And most importantly, they're both straight. Stan's been going on and off with...well, with everyone with a pussy. He'd been going with good old Wendy Testaburger for a few years, but she'd lost him at "exclusive." Kyle's been nervously flitting from girl to girl, never staying with one more than three days (not to mention those three days were filled with no touching, little-to-no general interaction, and Kyle bitching and moaning about the girl being clingy).

So why is it, then, with the football and the girl sex and the straightness, is Stan so into Kyle? It's something that will never cease to plague him, and he knows that he can't do shit about it, or everyone will know and all of Kyle's dreams will go flying out the window.

Stan reaches out with a trembling hand, his smile turned to frown, the clouds darkening overhead, and brushes Kyle's cheek. Kyle turns into the touch, but Stan jerks away as if tasting a forbidden fruit. He sits up, his chest clenching in pain, and stares up at the gradually darkening sky. A raindrop falls neatly on his forehead and rolls down his face, into his eye. He blinks it away, along with all the other tears he's trying to banish.

He leaves Kyle on the hill, the rain coming down harder.

* * *

Kyle sneezes loudly and swipes at his nose, his mood instantly darkening as he gets closer to the lunch table and Stan comes into view.

Stan.

The son of a bitch who had left him, asleep in the rain, to get drenched and be stuck in his house for the next week with a vicious flu. Not only that, but Stan was also the son of a bitch who hadn't come over to see if he's okay. He hadn't called. He hadn't even texted.

And now he was sitting at the table, looking as obliviously happy as he could be with...wait, is that _Wendy Testaburger_ hanging off him, like some kind of cheap whore?

Of course it is.

Kyle approaches the table and clears his throat when his prescence goes unnoticed. Kenny jerks awake from where he had been napping, and Cartman stares at him, long and hard. Kyle sneers at him, but Cartman stays with the same, stoic expression on his face. Kyle's pretty freaked out, so he quickly turns away, aware of Cartman's eyes staring a hole into his side.

Stan seems to jerk out of a reverie, his entire body going rigid as he pause mid-sentence. He stares dumbly at Kyle, and Kyle begins to wonder if there's something on his face.

Wendy smiles warmly at him, and is the only one to greet him with, "Hey Kyle!"

Kyle smiles fakely at her and sets his gaze on Stan, deadpanning, "Why'd you leave me?"

Stan continues to look dumbfounded, manging a "Wha?" through his gaping mouth.

"You left me," Kyle say slowly, as if talking to a small child. "Last week, on the hill. I fell asleep and you left, and it rained."

"Oh," is all Stan says back.

They sit there, staring at each other. Kyle hates himself for losing his anger when looking into Stan's eyes. Stan has such pretty, pretty eyes. Well, to Kyle, Stan has such pretty, pretty everything.

Kenny is the first to break the tense silence they've all fallen into. He gets to his feet and begins walking away, throwing his witty comments nonchalantly over his shoulder. "Well, if you two are just going to sit there and eye-fuck each other, I'm going to find Butters."

Kyle tears his eyes away from Stan's in horror, stuttering out an indignant "We're _not_ eye-fucking!" while Stan stands abruptly and grabs Wendy's arm, muttering out a "see you later." He's gone like that, with Kyle staring at his back with a strange sense of abandonment.

Kyle watches him go, and feels like crying. It's the first time that Stan has practically run away from him, and he doesn't think it's going to be the last, and the very thought is making Kyle' s heart break.

Stan and Kyle have been friends since the beginning of time, and at no point did Stan ever run _away_ from him. There were the times Stan would run _to_ him- like the time David Blaine set up a cult that Kyle got absorbed into. During the mass attempted suicide that followed, Stan had gathered up a force of super friends, doing everything in his power- just to save Kyle.

Just to find Kyle, just to run to Kyle.

But never away.

A hot breath on the back of his neck was like a slap back to reality. Kyle jerks violently when he realized it was not his imagination, and even more so when a large hand clamps itself around his bicep.

"It hurts, doesn't it, Kahl?"

Kyle shivers sporadically and tries to pull himself away, now that he's realized it's _Cartman_ panting on him. "What the fuck are you talking about, Fatass?"

Cartman chuckles, low and dark, and Kyle turns red in the face with anger. Honestly, he thinks, this day can't get any worse. Or at least, that's what he thought, before Cartman says, "The fact that Stan's replaced you with the hippie bitch. I bet it hurts pretty bad, huh?"

This stills Kyle immediately, like he's been hit with a sedative. But this sedative isn't dulling the pain- it's amplifying it to the point that he physically can't move. He's aware of Cartman, of his satisfied gaze on his face, of his fat, sweaty hand gripping his arm- and he knows he can't pause too long, or Cartman will have won.

He opens his mouth and manages a, "What would you know about it, you fat piece of shit?" He knows he's too late, and he doesn't stand a chance, but he mentally pats himself on the back for trying.

"You'd be surprised, Kahl," Cartman says casually, leaning heavily against Kyle's back. "I mean, Kenny ditched me for that pussy Butters, didn't he?"

Kyle snarls, "You and Kenny aren't like me and Stan." His back has begun to perspire from the prolonged contact of Cartman's flabby chest against his spinal chord. He feels Cartman chuckle in his ear, and it tickles and he squirms.

"You're right about that," Cartman replies. "I sure didn't have a boner for Kenny like you do for Stan."

Kyle feels all the blood in his body rush to his ears, leaving his fingers numb and cold as they bunch into fists. He begins shaking in anger, and tears his arm away from Cartman, who lets go with no struggle. Kyle gets to his feet and spins around on Eric, who sits there, smirking up at him with something unreadable in his eyes. Kyle grabs the front of his shirt and growls, "You have no idea what you're talking about, you giant fat fuck. So just mind your own business and stay the hell away from mine."

And with that, Kyle turns on his heel and storms away, Cartman's laughs trailing behind him.

* * *

Stan shifts, irritated as Wendy's fingers clamber for his own, gripping tightly. Her hands are clammy and sticky, and Stan wants to pull away, but he doesn't care enough to do so. They're sitting in a movie theater, filled with dozens of other couples who are scooting closer and closer and paying less and less attention to the movie- which is called "Love Me, Dear Love." A typical romantic comedy. Stan _hates_ romantic comedies.

Stan thinks to the action movie playing in the next theater. Kenny, Cartman, Butters and Kyle are in there. They invited Stan along, but Wendy had skipped along right at that moment and demanded that he watch some dumb movie with her. Stan had to decline with an apologetic smile to the guys. Kenny shrugged and patted him on the back, slipping a condom into his pocket with a free hand. Butters smiled nervously and quickly forgave him, his eyes widening at Kenny's actions. Cartman coughed, slipping "whipped" into it. Kyle said nothing.

Kyle...KyleKyleKyle. Stan's heart gave a tug of guilt at the very thought of his redhaired best friend. When Kyle had stumbled over to the lunch table, his nose red from rubbing it and his eyes surrounded by black rings, Stan had to control himself from clinging onto those skinny little Jew legs and begging for forgiveness. But Wendy anchored him down- and reminded him of why he wouldn't cling onto Kyle for dear life. Because Kyle deserves better. And Stan...Stan deserves exactly what he gets. And that comes in the form of the controlling, black-haired, entirely too _female_ Wendy Testaburger.

Speaking of whom...Wendy is sighing heavily (Stan thinks it's fake) and scootches closer to him, sighing again, as if to get his attention. Stan pretends to be heavily engrossed in the movie. Wendy begins tapping her fingers, intertwined with his, against the back of his hand, giving one more heavy sigh. Stan grabs a handful of popcorn and shoves it in his mouth.

Wendy, tired of being ignored, grabs his chin with her hand, jerking his head to face her. Stan flinches at her expression- she's _pissed_. And Wendy is never one to sit back and be stepped all over- she tells you what she's thinking, and she's not kind about it.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Stan?" He can tell her face is red, even in the dark lighting in the theater.

He mumbles out a "What do you mean?" between the popcorn shoved into his mouth. Wendy sits and glares darkly at him, so he takes the cue and chews and swallows while she waits impatiently. "What do you mean?" He repeats once the scratchy remains slide down his throat.

"I mean," she says angrily, "that you seem a lot more interested in this dumb movie than you are in me!"

Stan sputters in confusion. "But...but I thought you _wanted_ to see this movie!"

"Of course I don't!" Wendy says, standing. Stan pulls at her hand weakly when people begin to yell at her to sit down and shut up. In response, Wendy jerks her hand away and raises her voice. "I only came to this stupid movie because it seemed romantic! Look around, Stanley! No one is actually _watching_ the movie!"

And it's true. Bebe and Clyde are at the end of their row, their arms encircling one another, their heads raised to stare at Wendy. Craig and a blond who looks supsiciously like Tweek are in the back, and when the blond jerks violently (yeah, definitely Tweek), Craig flips Stan the bird. And...is that blond in the front Kenny? Naturally, it is. The blond waves happily, pointing exhuberantly at the mop of blond hair next to him, who Stan assumes is Butters, because a wave of stutters erupts afterwards. Stan assumes they left the action movie because Butters got scared. That or they got the theaters messed up for "Picko the Jolly Termite" playing in theater 3.

And not one of them have their eyes on the screen. Stan blushes fiercely, because hell, he knows all these people! He doesn't need them seeing him get told off by his girlfriend...Oh. His girlfriend. His eyes dash back to Wendy, who isn't there anymore. She's storming up the aisles, yelling loudly, her voice only fading when she throws open the door and leaves.

Stan stares after her for a moment, considering whether or not to follow. Only when Kenny yells, "Go get some, brah!" does he snap out of it and scramble to his feet, running as fast as his long legs can carry him out of the theater.

He bursts out into the lobby, which is deserted. Wendy is nowhere in sight. She must have dashed out of there for Stan not to be able to see her. Stan groans and slaps his hand to his forehead and pulls it down his face.

He stands there dumbly, not sure of what to do. He could a) go running into the night calling Wendy's name, b) go back into the romantic comedy and face the humiliation of his sexually active peers, or c) go into the action movie, find Kyle, and watch some faces get blown off by bombs.

Option C it is.

Stan turns on his heels and begins to head towards the theater when he collides head on with someone. That someone doesn't just bounce off- they topple backwards, their hands grasping the air desperately for something to save them from falling. And that thing happens to be the front of Stan's shirt. Stan's arms pinwheel in a futile attempt to keep his balance, before they snap out in front of him to brace his fall. His knees slam into the ground and his wrists jar, but he's not able to keep his head from jerking forward and colliding with the person on the floor. A familiar voice cries out in pain, and Stan's head is swimming too much to put a face to the voice.

He closes his eyes and hisses sharply through his teeth, one hand coming up to grip his rapidly-bruising forehead while the other keeps him hovering above the other person. The voice is cursing in...what is that, Hebrew? Stan's eyes snap open, and his head spins at the sudden movement, but he doesn't mind, because he sees Kyle laying there.

Kyle is grasping his nose, his eyes clenched shut in pain. "Goddammit," the redhead says through a locked jaw, finally managing English. "Fuckfuck, my nose."

"Shit, Kyle, I'm so sorry," Stan says, moving his hand from his forehead to gently pry at Kyle's hands. "Let me look at it." Kyle shuts his eyes harder and keeps his hands over his nose protectively and squirming wildly.

"No!"

"Chill the fuck out, Kyle. It's me, Stan."

Kyle pauses, and after a long moment, cracks one eye open. He stares openly for a moment, before turning as red as a cherry as his other eye shoots open. Stan manages a toothy smile, laughing even though his head screams in protest. "Hey."

"Hi," Kyle squeaks out, his voice muffled by his hands. Stan continues to grin, but it fades to a smile, and he doesn't even notice, because he's busy staring at Kyle's eyes. Kyle's green, green eyes, that for some reason are rimmed with red, like he's been crying. The red is furthur circled by black, because it looks like Kyle's gotten no sleep for a good day or two. That or he's been punched in the eye. Repeatedly.

Stan's smile is gone, a frown in it's place. His hand unconciously moves to gently prod one of the black circles, and Kyle blinks cutely. Stan's finger becomes all his fingers, trailing along Kyle's cheek on the tips, before it comes to the redhead's pale jaw. Stan rests his palm there softly, and his thumb is rubbing the side of Kyle's face. And Stan can't stop staring. He can't stop staring at those green, green eyes that are looking back at him, confused and Stan thinks that Kyle wants this, but he can't tell, because Stan is awful at interpreting people.

There's another long pause, and Kyle blinks again, seemingly breaking out of a spell. A small voice brings Stan out from underneath the same bewitchment- he shakes violently when it does, because it says, "Uhm..Stan? Can you get off of me, please?"

Stan turns as red as Kyle when he realizes he's still straddling the Jew, and he hastily moves his hand from the pale jaw and rolls away. Kyle sits up, gingerly uncovering his nose, which is an angry red and looks like it's going to bruise.

There's an awkward silence, and Stan can't think of a thing to say. He has a million questions swimming in his head, the most prominent of which is saying, "What was _that_?"

Kyle seems to be thinking the same thing, but instead of asking, he gets up on his feet. He opens his mouth as if to say something, when footsteps are heard. Wendy is back, her eyes red and puffy with crying. Stan's eyes zip from Kyle to Wendy, Wendy to Kyle. But he makes the mistake of lingering longer on Wendy, who is coming closer every second, and Kyle closes his mouth, his eyes darkening with...anger?

"I'll see you later, Stan," Kyle says, turning on his heel and leaving. Stan calls out his name, but Kyle pays no mind and keeps walking. And Stan is left, sitting with an aching forehead, an aching heart, and an angry girlfriend.

* * *

"Theeere you go," coos Eric's voice. Kyle scowls, but lets the larger boy reach over and gently push the end of the syringe that's sticking out of his arm. There's a slight pinch, and a rush of liquid, and then...then there's pure bliss.

Kyle's eyelids flutter shut when he feels _that rush_, and he lets his lips part and his breath goes out in one long sigh. He hears Eric chuckle, but he doesn't care. He doesn't care about _anything_, not anymore. Not Eric, not Kenny, not Wendy, and definitely not Stan. _StanStanStan_.

Kyle feels himself being laid down _Down the rabbit hole_, and he feels hands sliding under his shirt _Sweaty and clammy and clammy and sweaty_, but he's too far gone to really give a damn. He hears Eric's voice fading in and out of his conciousness _Stan...StanStanStan he doesn't know what he's missing_, and he knows this is for the best. He feels Eric's hands on his hips, his thumbs drawing circles on his hipbones, but he knows it won't matter in the morning _Let's never wake up, darling, it's far too pleasant in the clouds!_. He feels Eric's lips on his lips, but it's all right, because Kyle is so high right now, and he just wants to drift in the peaceful land he's in. And if sex with Eric is what it takes to pay for it, then Kyle's all for it _So roll it on and shove it in_.

Because heroine is his savior _Are you there, God? It's me, Kyle_.

Because Stan _StanStanStan_ left him, and Kyle's floating, and he needs an anchor, and Eric- Cartman? Eric. No, Cartman- was just _there_ and there was the breath _It was warm and made sweat bead like the beads on a prayer necklace but Kyle is Jewish_ and the caresses and Kyle just needs to be loved.

He needs to be loved, he needs to feel good and _damn_ this feels good. This whole dick up his ass ordeal isn't too nice _No, it's not so lovely but just tune it out, darling_, but it's worth it. His fingers are scrabbling against Eric's back _Skin him, do ittttt~_, and he hears himself sobbing and screaming "Stop" _'stopstopstopstopstopcan'tyouseeI'mdying?_, but that doesn't matter.

Because Stan _StanStanDearDearStan_ left him, and now he's all alone.

* * *

It's been weeks, and Stan is a wreck. He hasn't seen Kyle. He hasn't heard from Kyle. He hasn't heard _of_ Kyle. Kenny hasn't seen him, Butters hasn't seen him, Cartman says he doesn't _want _to see him, and Stan is going to have a panic attack.

Did Kyle run away? What if he got kidnapped? What if he's lying in a ditch somewhere, bloodied and broken and in need of help? _What if he's gone forever?_

Stan breaks into a sweat as he swings by the Broflovski residence for the seventh time that day. Ike answers, and looks as worried as Stan feels. Stan doesn't even need to say anything- Ike just shakes his head tiredly, and the very movement made Stan's heart ache.

He turns from the house and sets off at a half-run, half-walk pace, his brain beginning to hurt from the constant raking of possible places Kyle could be. He's checked Kenny's house, Butters' house, Cartman's house...hell, who is he kidding? He's checked every house in town.

He's checked the school, the bar, the arcade, even Tom's Rhinoplasty.

But to no avail.

Stan's reached the edge of town, and his throat is constricting painfully and his eyes overflow with tears. He makes no attempt to hold them back. Instead, he throws himself down on the pavement, pulling his knees to his chest and pressing his forehead against them. His hands tear at his hair as he gives a strangled sob, because Kyle is gone. Kyle is missing, and Stan can't function without him. He doesn't know how to, and he doesn't _want_ to know how to.

Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, with his red hair and his green eyes and his pale skin. With his sharp eyes and Jew nose and high cheekbones. His short temper and his musical laugh and his sarcastic, biting humor.

His Kyle.

Gone.

Stan lets out a mournful wail, and he feels his hair ripping away from his scalp, but he doesn't care. How could he care about anything anymore?

Several long minutes pass, and Stan's breath is beginning to even eout. His hands slowly release their death-grip on his hair, but the knot in his stomach is as solid as ever. He slowly, slowly raises his head, sniffling loudly as blinking away residue tears.

Tears won't help him, and they won't help Kyle.

He gets to his feet, throwing his arms out for balance when he sways dangerously, and takes a deep breath in...and out...in...and out...as he turns around, and is faced with the one place, the one place in the entire town, that he hasn't checked in.

It's a small building, with both broken windows, their glass shards glinting dangerously in the sunlight, and boarded windows. The door is a piece of rotting wood decorated in vulgar grafitti, and the roof has fallen in at some spots.

Stan's eyes widen in eagerness as he bolts for the door, grabbing the knob- which falls off in his hand- and pushing. The door is jammed, but Stan is strong. He is a football player, and he's taken down guys bigger than Cartman. This door can suck his dick once he's knocked it over. He throws his whole body at it, wincing because his shoulder feels like it's being mashed up. The door budges, and Stan takes this as encouragement, throwing himself at the door once again. A few more of these crippling body slams sends it toppling over, and Stan with it.

He curses loudly as he hits the floor, his shoulders screaming in protest. A horrified gasp is heard from inside, and Stan bolts to his feet, his whole body tense.

The inside of the building is dark and filthy, and it smells of urine and decay. Stan wrinkles his nose, but keeps his guard up, stuttering out, "Wh-who's there?"

There's no verbal response, but there's heavy breathing coming from the far corner. Stan takes a tentative step forward, and he see the vague outline of a figure shrink back, farther and farther into the corner as he gets closer.

He can make out a thin, wraith-like build, so tiny and skeletal that it looks like it'll blow away with the wind. His eyes adjust furthur, and he can see curls, heavy with grease as they hang limply on the side of the figure's head. And at last, he can see- and he sees a gaunt, pale face, with dry, bleeding lips and hollow cheeks. But what he sees last is what sends a knife through his heart- those eyes.

They're haunted and wide, surrounded by heavy, heavy black circles and decorated with red veins. The pupils are huge and they scream the air of someone being hunted. But underneath that exhaustion- underneath the redness and the crust and filth- they're green. They're green and determined and defiant and _Kyle_.

Stan doesn't realize he's said the name outloud until he actually says it. It catches in his throat on the way out and breaks in the stale air, and the figure goes rigid at the sound of it.

There's a long silence, and Stan feels like his heart is going to claw out of his chest via his throat. And just when he thinks that he's going to be enveloped in silence forever, a dry, cracked "_Stan?_" fills the air.

Stan's breath leaves him in one whoosh, and he falls to his knees, his face buried in his hands. Kyle has uncrumpled himself from the corner and has crawled forward towards him, and Stan barely registers that he's naked, that his bones are protruding, that he's filthy, and crushes Kyle to his chest. Kyle's fingers clutch desperately at his shirt and his breathing is leaving his chest in heart-wrenching, racketing sobs as he buries his face into the hollow of Stan's neck.

Stan clutches at the naked back, rubs his fingers over the bony spine, and buries his face in the filthy hair, and he doesn't care that it smells, that it's greasy, because underneath it all, it smells like Kyle, and Kyle is here, and he's okay and he isn't alone anymore.

* * *

The sky is gray and raining, the grass is dead, and today, Stanely Marsh is the happiest man on Earth. Nothing particularly good is happening on this particular day- he's not graduating from high school, it's not his birthday, he's not getting a car. He's not doing anything interesting or overly exciting at all.

In fact, Stanely Marsh is napping. He's lying on a hill, with his arms on his stomach, his face turned towards the clouds, and his legs sprawled out, overlapping on another pair next to him. His best friend, Kyle Broflovski, is lying next to him. His red hair is finally clean and is shining again, and is making a contrast with the green grass, and his fragile, still-too-thin chest is moving up and down in short, labored breaths.

But Stanely Marsh isn't actually asleep. His blue eyes are wide open, but they aren't admiring the clouds, or the cold raindrops, or the little spider making it's way across his hand. They're fixed on Kyle Broflovski's still gaunt face, which is a little bit better, but far from healthy, as it twitches slightly in the midst of a nightmare. There's a frown on Stan's face in response, because Kyle's nightmares are awful and he usually wakes up screaming, and Stan wants to beat him to the punch by waking him up before that can happen. Because nightmares would ruin Stan's day. His best day ever.

Because, see, Stanely Marsh's best friend Kyle Broflovski is alive. He's alive, and he's been clean for a month and a half now. He's out of the hospital, and he only occasionally goes crazy with the craving for heroine. He's been eating more, he's rehydrated himself, and he's showered. He smells like barsoap and rain and he smells all Kyle.

And Eric Cartman is gone. He's fled from the town because Kyle finally, _finally_ spilled who gave him his drugs, and Stan's thinking that Eric is lucky he did. Because if Cartman hadn't have left town, Stan probably would have strangled him to death. And then Stan would be charged with murder and be sent to jail and Kyle would be all alone again. And Stan swore that would never happen _ever again_.

Wendy had watched Stan in the hospital for days as he sat loyally by Kyle's side. Through every withdrawl episode, through every painful moment. And she had let him go with no struggle. Wendy's always been a true romantic.

And most importantly, they're together. Stan loves Kyle, Kyle loves Stan, and there's no if's or but's or why's about it.

Stan reaches out with a trembling hand, his frown turned to smile, the clouds clearing overhead, and brushes Kyle's cheek. Kyle turns into the touch, and Stan lays his hand firmly on Kyle's jaw. Kyle's eyes flutter open, and they're green and beautiful and smiling. Stan smiles back, his chest clenching in joy, and stares into those green, green eyes. A sun ray falls right on the spot where they're laying, starting the process of drying their clothes.

He stays Kyle on the hill (he'll always stay with Kyle everywhere), the sun shining brighter than ever.

_Fin._

* * *

**Loved it? Hated it? Lemme know, will ya?**


End file.
